


North Star

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Apples don't fall far from the tree, Cotton Candy Fluff, F/M, Gen, Jon's kid puts his foot in his mouth, Really AU, So AU it's not even funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:51:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird





	1. I Knew You Once

Eddard Stark, the second of his name, but known to all as Ned, strode into the stables, and was brought up short by the sight of a tall, blonde girl, dressed in roughspun and leathers, curly hair wound into a careless braid down her back, grooming a grey mare. She turned at the sound of his footfalls. ‘Eddard Stark,’ he said, bowing. ‘I don’t believe I have the privilege o’ your name.’

‘Cwengyth,’ she said, bobbing a perfunctory, but correct, curtsey. She glanced up from teasing a knot from her mare’s mane. She’d known who he was from the second he’d walked into the stables. He had the look of the Starks. Lean and dark of hair and eyes. Taller than his father. The trace of a Northern accent. Despite the fact he’d been born in King’s Landing, Ned had acquired a Northern accent as a point of pride. She and Ned had fostered at Winterfell together, at the age of twelve, the both of them learning the finer points of archery from Arya during one of her sojourns in Westeros. Much of Cwen’s time had been spent with Sansa, though, learning how to run an estate as if she were her mother’s heir, instead of Nikolas. The rest had been spent with Tyrion, who challenged her mind more than any maester or septa. They had been inseparable during their spare time to such a degree that Sansa joked their parents might as well agree to a betrothal. She’d met Ned years before that though, when Jon had invited the Stormland lords to King’s Landing in their turn. Cwen and Nikolas had come with their parents and were quickly enfolded into a gaggle of children that had included Ned and his younger brother Ben. 

Ned leaned against the side of the box. ‘And where are you from?’

Cwen tucked a stray curl behind her ear. ‘Tarth,’ she supplied, inwardly rolling her eyes. If he hadn’t figured out who she was by now, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She supposed she didn’t much resemble the gangly, scrawny girl she’d been at Winterfell, but she didn’t think she’d changed so much that she was unrecognizable. A soft _tcha_ came from her left. She could just make out her father’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter and her mother’s pained expression in the gloom of the stables. Brienne had little patience for foolish people. 

‘An island girl, then,’ Ned shot back. ‘Bet you’ve never been further north than Riverrun,’ he said scornfully.

‘As opposed to an idiot born in the South, but with pretensions to being a Northerner?’ Cwen retorted.

‘I’m the heir to Last Hearth. The blood o’ the First Men runs in me veins,’ Ned boasted, straightening his shoulders. ‘Me family’s been in Winterfell for centuries.’

‘How nice for you,’ Cwen muttered, rolling her eyes this time. Her family had an entire island named for them. ‘I fostered at Winterfell,’ she said. ‘When I was twelve. My uncle lives there.’

Ned eyed her suspiciously. ‘Who’s your uncle?’

‘Tyrion.’ Cwen allowed a smug smile to spread over her face.

Ned’s mouth fell open. ‘Lady Cwengyth… Tarth? Of Evenfall?’ He gulped. It was all starting to fall into place. ‘Your mother is the Evenstar…’

‘Mmm-hmmm.’ Cwen patted her mare’s neck, then shoved the brush into one of her saddlebags. 

Ned paled slightly. Brienne of Tarth was still a fearsome warrior. He’d watched his father spar with her from time to time, using edged blades, no less. Jon with Longclaw and Brienne with Oathkeeper, both Valyrian steel swords, and neither gave an inch, only pulling the blows at the last possible second to avoid serious injury. Ned could imagine all too well what she might do to him if she knew he’d insulted her daughter. ‘My lady, my deepest apologies,’ he intoned, bowing.

Cwen picked up a quiver and bow, slinging them both over her shoulder. ‘Piss off.’ She strolled out of the stables and Ned followed, stammering another apology. 

A few boxes down the stables, Jaime ruefully examined the tooth marks on his hand. He’d crammed his fist into his mouth and bitten down hard on his knuckles, lest he laugh out loud. He pointed the brush looped on his hook at Brienne. ‘If you were ever in doubt that she’s your daughter, doubt no more.’


	2. Meddling

Jaime eased himself into a bath with a sigh. ‘I’m getting too old for this sort of nonsense,’ he muttered. ‘Gods, but I despise being at court.’

Brienne tugged on the soft-soled boots made of a fine-grained leather. ‘Does this mean you and I can stay in Evenfall and send Nikolas on his own next time?’

Jaime groped for the winecup on the floor next to the tub and took a long swallow, the mellow sweetness of Arbor gold sliding down his throat. ‘If it means I will no longer have to pretend that Edmure Tully has the faintest idea of what he’s speaking, then yes.’ He set the cup down and searched the depths of the tub for the lump of soap. 

‘How do I look?’ Brienne stood, tugging the tunic she wore into place. ‘Presentable, at least?’ It was similar to the one she’d worn years ago in King’s Landing before he’d sent her to try and find Sansa. Only now it was made with heavy silk, the Tarth sigil embroidered on her left shoulder. 

Jaime guffawed. ‘Nobody will pay the slightest bit of attention to either you or me. Only when some determined mamma wants to entice Cwennie to dance with her clod-footed son. And may the gods protect the poor lord who wants to arrange a marriage between their dull-witted idiot of an heir to our girl.’

Brienne worried her lower lip between her teeth. ‘What if it’s…?’ 

Jaime sat up. ‘Who?’

Her head tilted to the side and she gave Jaime a pointed look. ‘They got on so well before.’

‘She could do worse,’ Jaime agreed, putting the pieces together. 

‘Mmmmm.’ Brienne gave herself a quick glance in the mirror and opened the door. ‘So could he.’

‘Brienne…’ Jaime warned. ‘They haven’t been in each other’s company in years.’

‘I’m not going to do anything,’ she retorted. ‘Just advance scouting.’ It wasn’t strictly necessary that Cwen marry at this point, but if she did, Brienne wanted it to be to someone she at least respected, and come to it of her own free will. Furthermore, had she, Jaime, Jon, or Talla been anything like their own parents, Cwen and Ned would have been married by now, based purely on the alliance of a stormlands House with a House from the Reach, and a House in the North. That they had gotten on well with one another as children was a bonus. She slipped into the common room of their suite before Jaime could say another word. Brienne knocked lightly on the door of Cwen’s chamber. ‘May I come in?’ 

Cwen opened the door, already in her dress, but hair a riot of untamed curls. ‘Are you going to lecture me about my behavior in the stables?’ she asked, as she closed the door. 

‘No.’ Brienne gestured to a stool, and Cwen dropped onto the seat with a huff. Brienne plucked a ribbon from the table and began to weave it into a braid that began over one of Cwen’s ears and ran over her head to the other side, leaving the rest of her hair flowing down her back. Brienne waited until she had nearly finished the braid before she spoke. ‘I have no right to lecture you about proper behavior. I once challenged my betrothed to a fight. If he won, I would adopt a more feminine manner. If I won, I wouldn’t have to marry him. Needless to say, I won.’ She tied off the braid. ‘I don’t blame you for taking Ned Stark down a peg or two,’ she added.

‘But?’

Brienne’s callused hand cupped her daughter’s face. ‘Until I left you with Sansa and Tyrion, there was hardly a day that went by when I didn’t look at you from the moment you were born. When you returned to Evenfall, I hardly recognized you. And it had only been two years. In Ned’s defense, he hasn’t seen you in nearly five.’

Cwen shot up from the stool and began to pace the length of the small room. ‘It gave him no excuse to act in such an arrogant manner,’ she retorted. 

Brienne sank onto the stool Cwen had vacated. ‘I agree.’

‘You think I ought to forgive him for being a pompous arse.’ Cwen crossed her arms over her chest. 

‘No.’ Brienne smoothed the tunic over her knees. ‘I do think you might consider forgiving him for not recognizing you. I imagine he feels terribly about it. The two of you were quite close once.’ She allowed a small, sly smile to grace her face. ‘And if he chooses to behave like a horse’s ass again, you have my permission to knock him into the dust, however you see fit.’ Brienne fixed her daughter with a stern look. ‘Just try not to maim him too badly.’

An impatient fist rapped on the door, and Jaime peered around the edge of it. ‘It doesn’t do to keep the king waiting, even one such as Jon Snow.’

Brienne rose to her feet with a slight grimace. Social functions had never been something she enjoyed. Cwen slid an arm through her mother’s. ‘Are you going to curtsey this time, Mamma?’ she inquired playfully, knowing full well Brienne avoided most typically feminine pursuits as much as possible. 

‘Absolutely not. I’ve never been a proper lady, and I’m too old and set in my ways to try it now,’ Brienne stated. ‘The last time I tried to curtsey, I got tangled up in my own feet, fell on my face, and bloodied my nose.’

‘When was that?’ Jamie asked. In all the years he’d known Brienne, not once had he seen her so much as attempt a curtsey. 

Brienne straightened the tunic and strode majestically to the door. ‘I was seven.’ She paused next to Jaime. ‘It was the last time I voluntarily wore a dress as well.’ She continued into the corridor. ‘We mustn’t keep the king waiting.’

* * *

Ned stood beside his parents on the dias, mentally conjugating verbs in High Valeryan. Court functions bored him to tears. He would have preferred to be anywhere else just now. Even Castle Black. Benjen, the lucky sod, was fostering in Sunspear, and far away from King’s Landing and familial duty. He let his thoughts wander to Last Hearth. It would be his permanent home in a couple of years. He was grateful his father had insisted he spend months at a time there once he’d come of age. Northerners were a prickly lot, and he didn’t want to be seen as an outsider. His uncle Tyrion was still viewed with suspicion, and he’d lived in Winterfell for two decades. 

A flash of blue caught his eye. Brienne and Cwengyth both wore blue. The Evenstar’s was the blue of midsummer skies. It was said to be the favored color of her husband. Cwength wore the shimmering blue of sapphires. The wide, sweeping sleeves of Cwengyth’s gown were lined with rose satin, the cuffs turned back. Golden suns and silver crescent moons dotted the inside of the sleeves. Brienne bowed slightly, a crooked grin on her face, followed by Jaime’s more correct one, earning him an exasperated eye roll from the lady of Evenfall. Cwengyth swept into a deep curtsey. When she rose, she met Ned’s eyes, and one brow slowly rose. _She does have astonishing eyes,_ Ned thought. _She always has…_

The Tarths were the last to make their way to the dais. As they turned away, Ned’s mother nodded to the cluster of servers, bearing trays with jugs of wine, cakes, iced fruits, tiny egg pies, and bits of food that Ned couldn’t begin to identify. He grabbed a cup from a passing server and drank half of it down, before realizing it was a Dornish red, and his least favourite beverage. So lost in thought was he, that when his father spoke, he started, nearly sloshing wine down his jerkin. ‘You’re no’ the first Stark to act the fool in front o’ girls.’ Jon elbowed Ned in the ribs. ‘Go.’

‘I already tried,’ Ned protested. ‘Several times.’

‘If looks could kill, you’d be riddled wi’ daggers by now,’ Jon chuckled. ‘Go on.’ He tilted his head in the direction on Cwen. ‘Do it proper. Admit you were wrong and beg for mercy.’

Ned gulped the rest of the wine in his cup and set it down, then squared his shoulders. He marched to the table where Cwen sat with Brienne and Jaime. He bowed to Brienne. ‘Lady Tarth,’ he murmured, then turned to Jaime. ‘Ser.’ 

Brienne hid a smile in her cup. ‘Lord Eddard.’ 

Ned cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his jerkin, blanching slightly at the narrow-eyed glare from Cwen. ‘Lady Cwengyth. May I have the pleasure o’ your company for a turn round the garden?’ he asked formally. 

Cwen exhaled forcefully through her nose, earning an admonitory nudge from her father. ‘You may,’ she replied regally and rose gracefully from her chair, skirts rustling.

Jaime watched the pair leave the pavilion, idly swirling the wine in his cup. ‘If he returns with his cock attached to his body, I’ll have to compliment Cwen on her restraint.’

‘Good thing she’s never met the free folk,’ Jon commented, taking Cwen’s chair. ‘She’d come back wearin’ it round her neck like a prize,’ he snickered.

‘And you know this because?’ Jaime asked.

Jon smiled a little wistfully. ‘Met a free folk girl once who threatened to do the same wi’ me.’ He gestured to Jaime. ‘Last time I was at Last Hearth, Tormund asked about you. Wanted to know if you were dead yet so he could come take the big woman back to the real North and show her what a real man is.’

'He does know Brienne would probably punch him in the balls before he could finish the thought?’

Brienne chortled. ‘He’d probably enjoy it.’

Jon lifted his cup. ‘No doubt.’

* * *

‘I really am sorry,’ Ned muttered, once they had put enough distance between themselves the the pavillion. ‘You don’t look the same.’

‘I changed so much that you didn’t recognize me at all?’ Cwen drawled.

‘The stables were dark,’ Ned said defensively. ‘You grew up.’ He rubbed the prickly heat creeping up the back of his neck. He would have had to have been blind to miss the curve of her breast and hip. ‘Did you foster anywhere else?’ he asked in a rush to change the subject.

‘No. I spent two years at Winterfell, then went home to Evenfall.’

‘Really?’

Cwen laced her fingers together behind her back. Between her father’s identity and her parents’ admittedly unsanctioned marriage, there had been little enthusiasm to send either her and Nikolas too far outside the bounds of family. ‘It’s complicated.’ She glanced at Ned. ‘You?’

‘Highgarden and Horn Hill.’ He folded his hands together behind his back. ‘Just got back from Last Hearth a month ago. I’m going to live there in a couple o’ years, so I’m supposed to spend half a year there and the other half here until then. Every time me father’s there, one of the free folk comes from north o’ the Wall and asks if your mother is still wastin’ her time wi’ your father.’

‘Tormund Giantsbane,’ Cwen supplied with a laugh. ‘I’ve heard a few stories about him from Mamma.’

‘Mmm. If Tarth were further north, he might try to pay your mother a visit.’

‘She’d likely smack his arse for his troubles.’

‘I get the impression he’d like it,’ Ned retorted. Cwen giggled, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘I remember that laugh,’ he murmured. ‘Have you been betrothed to anyone?’

‘No.’ Cwen sat on a low wall, titling her face up to the salt-laden breeze off the water. ‘Your uncle Sam proposed a betrothal with your cousin Aemon while I was at Winterfell, but my parents refused.’

‘It’s a good match. He’s the heir to Highgarden.’ Ned felt unaccountably relieved to discover the arrangement had fallen though. 

Cwen smiled wryly. ‘You’d have to understand my parents. They’re together because they wanted to be, not due an arrangement. They married for love of one another. I think they’d rather like the same for Nikolas and me. They would want for us to, at the very least, like and respect the person we’re going to marry.’

‘That’s unusual.’

Cwen grinned. ‘So are my parents.’ She fiddled with flowing sleeve of her dress. ‘I understand Mamma’s motivations, though. Grandfather tried to arrange a marriage for her three times. None of them came to fruition. Clearly.’ She snickered. ‘Edmure Tully offered one of his daughters for Nikolas. Mamma hadn’t even finished reading the letter before Papa snatched it from her hand and said absolutely not. He would rather Evenfall fell into the Straits of Tarth than to see Nikolas married to one of the Riverrun girls.’

‘They are an insipid group o’ girls,’ Ned interjected.

‘Mmmm. We’ve met them a few times. I was bored to tears within minutes. Not a thought between the lot of them that isn’t about dresses or hairstyles.’ She turned her gaze to the surf crashing against the cliffs of King’s Landing. ‘Papa says they inherited their father’s intelligence.’

Ned frowned. ‘Two fleas fucking have more intelligence than Edmure Tully,’ he muttered.

Cwen’s brow rose and she smirked. ‘Exactly.’


End file.
